Issue No. 3

Deerhoof
Saturday May 21, 2005
NorthSix, Brooklyn
Maxwell Fig

It would have been too easy to see Deerhoof in Philadelphia. Tying my shoelaces and skipping over to the First Unitarian Church to squeeze out a soporifically pedestrian review is not what I want to do to people. I think you deserve better than that, my fellow Magnaphone readers. I checked out Kill Rock Stars' website for an alternate plan, and two nights at NorthSix in Brooklyn jumped out at me like a housewife on speed holding a knife at my throat.

I picked Saturday night because I wanted to be around a good crowd and feel the electricity if there was going to be any, and by Saturday afternoon I was in a rental car with my travel partner. She's the most dangerously beautiful young painter who ever wore a cowboy hat, and she's the one who clued me in to wearing surgical gloves while painting, which I now practice religiously. Before leaving for New York City, we headed to the northeast for a private art show that several students were hosting in their adjoining warehouse lofts. I met a sculptor who works with electronics and metals, welding together fascinating pieces of work that belong in the excitement of a rock show, in my opinion. When I am in the presence of well-executed art, I am reminded of how important art is, and how often it's taken for granted. A good show is an opportunity to make sure that doesn't happen.

I've watched television for most of my life, and I've heard enough public service announcements on WKDU to confuse an astrophysicist, but I never heard anything about not being allowed to photograph burning car wreckage on the New Jersey Turnpike. The police officer that nailed us was more aggressive with me over how much we slowed down for the footage than for the photos. "Haven't you seen a fire before?" he shouted repeatedly and agitatedly. I remained calm. I knew that he needed to get it out, and then he'd write us a ticket or let us go. That's when my sidekick made a misguided move and replied, "Is that what that was?" Instantly, a terrible fear shot through my heart. The cop who pulled us over was built like a bulldog with a uniform that looked like it was his skin. His piercing blue eyes widened and intensified, and he shouted for me to get out of the car. Not my partner; me. I could see her laughing as I was being frisked on the hood. My frisking was followed by the most intense drill instructor-style scolding I've had since I handed my father a note on my seventh birthday that said, "Fuck you dad!" We were let off with a warning and a court summons, but I still have the video of the burning car and it rocks.

If you've never seen New York City in a summer rainstorm, you're missing out. Our first stop that afternoon was at Café Mogador in the East Village. We ordered the goat cheese ravioli, an apple tort with cinnamon ice cream, and topped it off with a cappuccino, while enjoying a dramatic display of skylight changes, followed by a deluge of a thunderstorm. Everyone left the outside terrace for cover indoors, except my partner and me. It was a perfect moment, paralleled only by our experience later that night at NorthSix.

Timing is everything, my friends. We arrived early at NorthSix and bought the last two tickets available before the show sold out. This gave us time to relax and have a drink at 24hrs, just up the street. We missed the opening acts, but we joined the crowd while Deerhoof were setting up. Then they opened. I'll just say this - rarely do I get to see a band with that kind of control and precision. Math rock is not my thing, but art that is done well feels right, and Deerhoof felt great to everyone in the room. Most of their dizzyingly executed songs ended abruptly and stunned the audience. Each song was punctuated with an instant of dead silence, followed by an eruption of cheers. At one point, the drummer had to interrupt the performance to ask to borrow a snare from one of the opening bands, to replace the one he had apparently just damaged. We heard only one heckler that night, and it was a young man in the audience who could not contain what was on all our minds at that moment: "You ROCK!" More cheering ensued and Deerhoof were back on. Satisfied with my pictures and eager to get home, I met up with my partner again in the audience and we mutually decided to hear one more number. This was a wise decision. Suddenly, the feel of the band shifted. One of the guitarists traded his guitar for Satomi's bass, leaving her to put her whole body into the next five songs, which, quite frankly, rocked! They were good solid modern rock numbers that combined Deerhoof's intelligent intuitive style with some hard rocking guts. We stayed until the very end. What a show.